To bestow a gentleman
by kdlovehg
Summary: Katniss believed it would be romantic to be loved by a nobleman until she closed the book that is. So when her wealthy aunt Effie grants her a season to meet the eligible men of Panem, her choice may be further solidified when the first eligible man -peeta Mellark-lacking in pedigree, offers to bestow more that what a gentleman is to her. And with time, well she just might like it.
1. Chapter 1

Summary:

Katniss believed it would be romantic to be loved by a nobleman until she closed the book that is. So one must never read the epilogue, because that's when all the passion dwindles. But when her wealthy aunt Effie grants her a season to meet the eligible men of Panem, her choice may be further solidified when the first eligible man - peeta Mellark - lacking in pedigree, offers to bestow more that what a gentleman is to her. And perhaps with time he could show her that rather than reading a book for women like her, she could write a book for children, maybe even her own? Maybe, even - with him?

Katniss pov

With a sigh plagued with regret I shut my newest romantic literature book: The Great Gatsby, being careful to keep it in pristine condition with no pages bent lest someone discover the book and know I've read it. It's time to rid my imagination of the frivolous and devoted Gatsby and the young Daisy shown upon a dark green background - my favourite colour - nevertheless I must move on with my day and end these distractions from further manipulating my thoughts.

Smiling, I uncurl myself from the worn loveseat and with a yawn I stretch my arms above my head before dropping them loosely back to my sides. It's not like I can be blamed though, dark sinister palaces are much more preferable to dream of than cold, damp alleyways and outdated houses, and perhaps the noblemen aren't such a bore either.

The harsh rain pours down outside the window, each droplet making a soft splat onto the roof causing the temperature in the room to drop slightly as the house was never properly insulated. Then with a gentle crackle, the flame dies out and the wood in the fireplace starts to chill instantly and grow damp as the remnants of a spark float into the air to flicker out. Shivering, I carefully lay the book on the small wooden table that's stationed between the loveseat and the fireplace, before picking up the dishtowel. The material itself is a plaid red from an old dress I used to own, but due to financial issues and my sister growing up too quickly to wear it, the cloth now functions as any other rag.

"Scoot" I say, swiping at the cat on the fireplace with the dishtowel. Buttercup - my sister's pet cat - leaps off, as ungraceful as I am, landing on the floor with a thump leaving me to clean away the stray yellow hairs from his muddy coloured fur coat that was left behind. Smiling, I stroll around the room sweeping surfaces and the occasional décor; picture frames, a clock on the mantelpiece. Now I may not be a romantic heroine, but that doesn't mean I can't be a lady - no, a duchess. Yes that seems more fitting. Only someone of that calibre would have the time to polish and dust their luxuries. Then, perhaps like any true lady, I could leave the house and find a dashing gentleman on the porch. One that wouldn't flee at the sight of me. The novels seem to have plenty of those.

"Yes! I hope that if and when the day comes for a man to be brought into this house, he _despises_ you" I say to the cat as he rests his head on his paws. "So don't go and try to get him to like you". He doesn't respond but his ears lower. Fear. That's what I suppose it is. He can hear the storm. Sighing I shove the dishtowel into my waist apron that's tied around my navy blue chiffon off-the-shoulder floor length gown.

Once I've circled the room once, which in all honesty takes barely a minute, I return to pick up one of the only small picture frames. "A picture of myself mother!" I joke to myself holding the frame to my chest as I gaze at the ceiling. "Oh", I whisper, "the vanity is strong with this one".

The image itself seems as grey and soulless as myself, or so I'm told in jest. It's like looking into a smudged window, gazing at the display behind it. My straight black hair had been finger combed by my father in a hurry and he'd put it into two braids, messily secured with some ribbon. Even my grey eyes were wide open, a smile cuddled by two pink cheeks. Perhaps it's better that I favor darker, more mysterious colours like black, grey and olive than the typical blonde, blue eyed child that the nation's enthralled with. It's almost as if we could afford to have a picture in colour. A scuffling draws my attention away and I watch as Buttercup jumps onto the windowsill. I put the picture down and whistle...

He ignores me. "But you don't even like the rain" I whine as he leans up to swipe his paws against the window. I huff at his useless attempt to escape. This is the reason our curtains have to be tied up and pulled to the side. My family would have a fit if a piece of threading came loose from the material so who knows what claw marks would do to them. "Look I think the rain may let up soon. I'll take you out then". He meows. Sighing I spin around, trying to ignore how the rain is dwindling, leaving dark clouds looming over the house. Buttercup leaps down and follows me, nudging my legs to make me move faster.

Delaying, I lean back and swipe the book off of the table. Madge would never lend me another book for a week if I caused damaged this one, and it's not like I can afford them or that I even have access to them. Shutting the parlour door - which, is just a living room despite my aunt's ideas - behind me, I yelp, instantly slapping a palm over my mouth to silence the noise as three mounds of fur smack into me before they attempt to tackle me to the ground. I steady myself on the doorframe just as Buttercup hisses at the mutts. They act like they haven't seen me for weeks, I fed them just this morning!

"Was that you closing the door Katniss?" a buxom figure says softly from the top of the stairs as she cinches her dressing gown.

"Yes Aunt Ocatvia. I'm sorry for waking you but I've no wish to stay in the room cleaning the cat's fur from the furniture all morning, and what with Buttercup prowling around I thought it might be better if we left the room".

"Oh that's alright dear" she says, her lips lifting with an undeniable sweetness. I smile at her appearance; her face is washed clean of makeup, making her look more youthful and her natural hair lays ruffled around her shoulders - unhidden by her usual array of wigs and headwear - though that may be because of the early hour. "I just wanted to make sure the mice didn't escape".

Since Aunt Octavia's last trip to the heart of Panem, she brought home a collection of seven mice. Simply because at the time they were staying in her room so they soon served as her own companions. The only difference is that whenever they were seen someone or something would try to get rid of them. I think she just prefers stubborn creatures to be honest, but then again maybe they don't see her as their own snow white because they're constantly 'escaping'.

"They haven't. It's okay though, I've been watching buttercup" I reply. She nods, focusing her gaze on Buttercup who waits by my side. Without looking I can tell he's getting restless, because I can feel his tail brushing around my legs repeatedly, too weak to drag me away. He's like a child pressing on my legs so that I'll commit my time to more urgent matters - namely his freedom to roam. One more I suppose. Though I'd be more than happy to grant it if I could rid the house of all these animals. Just more food to go to waste.

Her white robe sways slightly around her legs as she comes down the stairs. "That's awful good of you dear. With a brain like yours I tend to wonder why you even stick around with us old biddies".

"At least you're not Trinket".

"And rightfully so" she says with a smirk, stopping herself from laughing "or I'd be hounding you all day".

When she reaches the bottom of the stairs she ties her auburn hair up into a messy bun. "It's smart not to listen to Venia's nonsense. Having only the parlour as a room for when you require peace? Nonsense! Honestly, I don't know how she finds fault with you child" she says, finishing her rant softly.

I glance down at my dress; therein lies the issue. Aunt Venia's often complained about the state of my attire, deeming my appearance as 'rough'. If she was here now she'd be badgering me about the guise I'm showing and how it's scaring my suitors away.

"I suppose I'd better go check if Flauvis has any tea left. This stress is really getting to me my dear. I've broken a nail! And a quill! Can you believe it?" she questions before explaining that as she was counting our finances, her quill broke.

"I must admit dear that I was tempted to tip the ink over and pretend we'd lost the accounts! If only they'd believe it" she states.

A meow sounds through the room. "Well I was just going to take Buttercup outside. I can check to see if Madge's father has any spare, throw away quills?".

"Oh yes! That'd be grand" she says, following me into the kitchen. Based on the prices nowadays, we need to save as much as possible so any excess expenditure should be kept for times when we're in need. Not that she wouldn't know though. Having seen our current balance is probably the reason why she told me about the quills. Usually she'd just go and buy them herself or ask one of my other aunts, so this is like a warning of sorts. It must be getting dire.

Two loud thumps echo, so I rush over to the wooden back door and swing it open, catching it just before it can bang against the wall.

On the doorstep stands a man. Although, if he wasn't given a second glance - and I wouldn't imagine he often is - then it would be easy to assume that he were just a mere boy - malnourished even - especially due to his choice of profession.

"Letter for Everdeen" he announces.

"Right" I state, "let me just get the money if you cou-".

"Oh I'll do it dear!" Octavia's voice resounds as she scurries up the stairs. I smile as her retreating figure disappears from sight. Of course she'd do it. A man shows up at the door and as one of my guardians, she looks... well normal. That to her wouldn't be enough to draw them in, despite it only being a messenger.

"I think double is more suffice" he calls out after her, leaning into the doorway.

I step forward and cross my arms, tilting my head in question. "Did you sail here?".

He shifts, visibly uncomfortable and tries to squeeze some of the rain out of the sleeve of his damp blue suit. The only thing he's succeeding in is making a puddle on the steps. The man hides something behind his back.

"No" he scoffs, trying to appear confident, yet only making himself seem more arrogant "But not only did I bring a letter but a gift for the lad-hey!". He startles as the gifts are swiped from his grasp. The grinning face I've come to know moves in front, presenting them with a flourish.

"S'cuse me Miss, but I believe Marvel was trying to swindlen you out of ye money". I take the gifts with a smile and ignore the grumbles of the man leaving.

"Thank you Darius". I flinch at the noise of my Aunt bounding down the stairs.

"I've got it!" a shrill voice sings.

I glance over as she rushes to stand beside me. "You got changed" I mummer unsurprised.

Her natural hair is hidden beneath a cherry-coloured shoulder length wig adorned with a white headband that has mouse cage designs imprinted onto it.

"Well I didn't know there would be guests" she hisses, paying Darius for his helpfulness.

Thanking her, he finishes our conversation with a glance at me. "Well I'm glad to be of service mam".

"Someday I hope" she says wistfully.

I roll my eyes and feel a tug at the waist of my dress. Caught again. Apparently it's rude to be defensive because when it comes to the topic of my potential motherhood, well now _that's_ not inappropriate. I'd beg to differ, but with two middle-aged women and an uncle? Well there's a lot of voices being heard. Besides, my throat's still sore from the last argument so I think I'll sit the small fights out. It's a shame we can't be physical in this house...

Sometimes I wonder how any of my aunt's even have flaws left to see in me, that they haven't criticised. So it's usually a surprise when all they have to say about me to any hopeful gentleman caller (which is usually any may who looks at me before casting a smile in their direction) is compliments - then again there hasn't been many of either of those. Any really.

With a smile he dashes around the street corner - his messy red hair curling up beneath his white flat cap from the wind.

I reach upwards automatically and tuck a stray hair back under my white cap. Making sure it's secure, I pull the strings tighter. Presentable? Yes. Modest? Always. Marketable? Unfortunately.

Aunt Octavia looks at me.

She raises an eyebrow.

I huff. "Too old" I say excusing myself. I hear the door shut behind me as she follows.

"He looks about your age".

"He's in his twenties Auntie. So quit it, I don't need another Effie". I yelp and glance down. Buttercup moves his claws away from my leg choosing instead to scratch his ear. "Sorry", I whisper remembering that he was supposed to go out. "Blame the woman".

Shifting the items so that the parcel is at the top, I read the return address.

 ** _Central Panem - sent via Captain Heavensbee of the golden cornocopia._**

"Octavia!" I call out, glimpsing behind me, only then realising she's already passed and is currently pouring herself some leftover, albeit, still fresh tea. "It's from Aunt Trinket".

The mutts rush past me and surround my usual chair by the wooden table. Mindlessly I pat each of their heads. What could she possibly want now?

It must not be too important as she's always preferred to visit us in person. Any chance to flaunt her wealth is a must. Probably another rumour.

It is fitting though: simple gossip discussed over breakfast at the wooden kitchen table by my two aunts and uncles. It's like being cast in their own soap opera - except none of them smoke.

"Who was at the door, dear?" Uncle Flavius asks before pausing. "Sugar?".

Before I have a chance to reply he uses the stirrer from his tea to scrape at the hardened sugar in the glass bowl. Money must be even tighter than I thought and extra expenditure is non-existent. I make a mental note to buy more sugar, though based on the cost it'll likely be only a small amount. It's preferable for taste but I can afford to waste anything, besides my family may need an energy boost at one point. Or possibly a strong herbal tea to shock them back into reality when they see our financial issues - provided they haven't already.

Even mint leaves and such are a rarity because not only are they costly but when found they're usually used for their health benefits.

"No. I er... I'm fine thank you". He raises his eyebrows creating deep furrows in his brow. It's clear that he's aware that this isn't my usual drink.

He nods - in understanding I suppose - before putting down the stirrer and continuing to drink his tea. Lowering the cup I notice that he's mouth is stained purple. A colour he loves that is treated similarly to the lavish lifestyle he tries to have and thus he attempts to replicate it in any way he can. Even going so far as to use what extra money he has to buy food colouring - a liquified version of the food colouring paste a decorator may use in a bakery - to put in his beverages.

I sit in the empty chair and put The Great Gatsby on the table. "It was the messenger - Marvel I believe his name was - though Darius seemed to know him quite well so how I never knew his name I'm unsure of".

Aunt Venia holds out a thin arm, clicking as she speaks, "You need to pay attention child! No wonder you have so many questions! Come, come! Give them here". I lean over and slide the gifts to her, sitting down properly before she can rebuke me further.

She reads over the address like I did. It's common to let the oldest person in the room open the mail. An entitlement I've grown up knowing, so it's no surprise when she slowly begins to analyse the package.

Aunt Octavia lifts her cup and takes a sip of her tea. I mirror her.

"Oh will you just read it?" Flavius complains.

I take a small sip of the tepid beverage and blanch at the insipid taste.

Aunt Octavia turns to me just as I crinkle my nose. She lets out a puff of air, just shy of a laugh.

"What do you think?".

"Horrible" I whisper trying not to spit the liquid back into the cup. I need my sugar.

"Not that. The gifts".

"Seems mundane". She makes a noise of indignation at me but says nothing else.

Aunt Venia reaches for the stirrer and uses it to split open the envelope messily, before ripping it, careless about the contents despite Octavia's plea to be careful. I act indifferent regardless of my piqued curiosity. Aunt Trinket hasn't had contact with us for four years, I'd assumed she became to busy. Then again when she did speak to us, she seemed quite obsessed with me for some reason. Maybe that's why I was so uneasy around her. Venia tips the envelope over.

"Goodness!".

"Oh my...".

"What a day!".

I can scarcely blink whilst my relatives exclaim in joyful shock as a small pin is dropped onto the table mercilessly.

"Its simply stunning" Flavius says astounded, when the clattering of metal against wood has silenced. "We can buy a goat with this! I've known we've needed one for seasons".

Venia grasps the burnished pin to examine it, tilting it this way and that.

"Don't break it!", Octavia squeals.

"Don't" I agree quietly, though I doubt anyone can hear me. My throat feels parched. My head light. I breathe in and shift to stop my head from lolling onto the table. This could set us up with bread for months. I lean onto my elbows, supported by the table.

"What is it?" she asks, leaning over her cup towards Venia.

"Oh sit, sit!" comes the reply.

"Made of finely crafted gold, I'd say" Flavius whispers. He drains his tea and slams the cup down before running his hand through his orange corkscrew curls. He watches, eyes focused intently on the object in Venia's hands.

"What do you think, Katniss?" a soft voice asks.

"Mmm" I mumble, wishing she'd quit asking for my thoughts for just this once. My tone reeks of suspicion. "Such good fortune. What a token to bestow." I pause at my words. What am I saying? I can't keep this. I remember the account books and bid the gift goodbye. Its going to be sold anyway. No point being too grateful when a payment would have saved us time. Not that I would have accepted it though. I sniff. The pin reflects the daylight into my eyes.

"Go to the hob" Venia demands staring at me. I'm about to ask why when Octavia asks on my behalf. "Because she looks ragged. Throw some rags on, you'll fit right in". I nod slowly, attempting to focus again.

"The umm... the letter" I whisper, "What does it say?".

My aunt tugs a single sheet of parchment paper from the envelope, oddly enough the force used is as if the letter never wanted to be revealed in the first place. She unfolds it and makes a comment about Trinket speaking too much about fellow memsahibs and unfathomable tales of men from war. "Goodness. Effie seems to be breaking her contract with the presumable Mr Trinket! I guess the arranged wedding must have been a right nightmare to halt. Not to mention...", she glances again at the envelope and shrieks, "This letter is late! She's coming soon - oh very soon! Those pesky men can never deliver on time. Octavia clear the table. I haven't the time for such nonsense. Go on Katniss and hurry up, its time to prepare.". Her eyes fix on my dumbfounded expression, "Do you hear me dear? Are you ready?".

* * *

The beige walls of the underground 'black market' are stained with splatters the colour of black coal. I dodge the half-filled boxes of dried blood and tattered clothing before weaving in and out of the bustling crowd. The whistle of the train that once ran above still echoes in my mind and I shiver, remembering the gust of wind that would rush down here every time it sped past.

This old coal warehouse is hidden away and was reopened 74 years ago by some retiring coal miners who were desperate for some extra money. Now, since the prohibition of selling items and food second hand, many middle class families choose not to associate themselves with it, thus leaving it legally 'abandoned' by the central government of Panem, who chose to instead focus their attention on charities that better the wealthy part of the nation and make the leaders look better.

"Fancy seeing you here" a voice calls. I lick my lips and hand the bowl back over to greasy Saw, a dear friend of my father. "You done sampling yet? Wondering off with my bowls when I've got a kettle full of rhubarb stew. Girlie, with the amount you've been eating I'll have none for the customers." she complains before smirking, showing a hint of teeth.

"Sorry" I start before she can interrupt. I know she genuinely doesn't mind me eating, especially after I devoured two bowls of the sweet and tangy stew. It helps her at least, but I still feel guilty about wandering off. If I'm going to eat her food then I should sit and talk to her like I used too before I had to start dressing up everyday. "It's your fault for making me eat when I'm stressed".

"Makes me wonder why your so small then.". I don't answer, uncomfortable that she's aware of our financial state and the effect it has on us - physically that is. I guess my father didn't tend to hide things from her. I adjust my deep green hooded cape-coat to make sure she can't see how small the dress I'm wearing is.

I ask her what she plans to cook later on to divert her attention away from my slim size.

"Dunno. It was brought over last night. Never mind though, once it's in the soup, I'll call it beef".

"You don't care?", I ask.

"I'm not picky".

"So they can't be?" I ask. She chuckles and gestures towards her stall, the smile leaving her face.

"Come here I wanna show you something".

I follow her, noticing her bony figure too small under clothes. I don't make a comment on it. I understand.

"Wha-".

"A new butcher came and went the other day. Now old Rooba's back on the stall and she needed something to trade. Gave me this 'ere goat. The poor fellow ain't too good". She gestures to a baby goat hidden behind her stall and indicates it's mauled shoulder and small size. "And I'd feel bad cooking it up. She'd get butchered terribly. I know you can't fatten her up, but I got this job to do. So I figured you could fix her up a bit? Might get some good milk and cheese out of her. Share a bit with me from time to time and she's all yours. Consider it a gift. You don't owe me nothing till you got extra, but you gotta take _real_ good care of her. I don't want to think that the old woman got the best deal out of the two of us.".

"And if I don't - get extra that is" I say, too shocked. Every time I tried to interrupt her to refuse she'd shush me and I'd glance back towards the limp creature, knowing how close its fate is.

"Well I got a couple more years ahead of me so I'll wait". I lean down and brush my fingertips over a small leather collar around her neck, torn and as ragged as she is. I nod slowly, too ashamed to look at Sae. Why wouldn't she just get Rooba to cut the goat up? I doubt it could produce anything with the state it's in.

"You're too good to me" I force out, straining to keep the bitterness out of my voice lest I seem ungrateful. I reach into my pocket and pull out the pin Venia gave me.

"My aunt's coming around. Effie that is. I can't tell you how thankful I am right now for you. The house is probably being refurbished right now, in the cheapest way possible. I don't want her here. I think." I whisper, deciding that I may as well share the real reason I'm here.

"Well ya got to get through it or else you'll never see the end of it my dear" she states with a toothy smile.

"The words of a mad man" I recall. Effie once said that after Octavia spoke of my mother's mental health.

"Only when you take notice. Get going now then. Better hurry before they send them mutts after you eh?".

"What's it worth?" I say bluntly referring to the item in my hand. She doesn't even look at it.

"You keep it. You might need it sometime".

"For what?" I ask loudly looking away as my eyes begin to burn. A lady doesn't beg.

"Reference for when you make that bird nest for ya lover".

I choke out a laugh. "Or maybe, your just delusional".

"Yes...maybe we both are".

* * *

 _ **Authors note - Hey there! This is my new romance/friendship Everlark fic. I hope you liked chapter 1, it was getting long for me - over 4000 words of content - so I thought I'd stop it here. What are your thoughts? Please review! I love hearing your feedback. Follows and favourites are always appreciated, so thank you for everyone who does it for this or any of my other fics! :)**_


	2. Chapter 2

The icy breeze is a relief as it hits my cheeks, freezing the tear tracks before they can run down the length of my face. No matter how many times I tell myself I don't need anyone, that I'm as hard as steel, there's always a hint of weakness that leaks through, leaving me cold and empty. The dull throb in my arm only seems to intensify the closer I get to the house.

"Welcome back dear if you could just...? Oh my gosh!" Flauvis exclaims, dropping the bedsheets in a hurry to help me. "Did you buy her? Get a discount? Look at her child!" he shouts, rattling off nonsensical phrases as he tugs the goat forward. I release my grip and gently pat my face to find in dry. Perfect. No doubt if I wore makeup like my aunt it'd be obvious how much pain I'm in.

"Are you alright katniss? Goodness she weighs a ton!" he says glancing at me. I nod making sure he doesn't notice when I rub my shoulder.

"I can't believe someone _really_ bought the pin. What an odd exchange? Never mind though" he pauses heaving for breath, no doubt never having the need to carry something so large, let alone useless. "I wanted a goat and now we've got one. It's just... well I mean she could have been stolen. _You_ could have been robbed. There are so many pickpockets out there!".

"I don't think she'd fit in my pocket" I reply.

"You're right, you're right. It's wonderful. You're amazing. I'm so hungry already, but katniss... you _can't_ go lugging him down the high street!". Before I can respond he's dragging the goat by the collar around the back of the house, with renewed energy. I don't even need to guess why. She must be here.

"It's true dear" Octavia says and I turn back to the doorway to see her picking up the bedsheets and folding them over her arm.

"Let me do that" I state rushing over but she dodges my hands, twisting around and enters the house.

"I've got it. We don't want to seem like we're doing nothing. You know how your aunt is".

My shoulder slump. There goes any hope she'd been delayed despite the letter. "Why aren't you with her?" I ask removing my cape-coat and giving it to Octavia. She drapes it over her arm before responding.

"Venia's dealing with her. Did you manage to get some quills?".

I gasp. Shoot. "I'm sorry", I apologise, angry at myself for forgetting.

"Oh never mind dear", she says softly. "Next time. I can wait. Speaking of which, did you pass by Rue?".

I shake my head as we wait by the stairs. "That's a shame. She brought us some lovely wild flowers and promised to keep some spare if she ever found any. I said I think you'll love them. We put them in the kitchen, they're all white and yellow and purple! Your uncle thought they were very festive".

"Not really a time to celebrate" I mummer dejected.

"Look" she says pointing to the window. I follow the direction noticing a carriage I didn't see before, just metres away on a path I usually stray from. My clouded focus of getting home, emotions composed, must have blocked me from seeing it. A coachman dressed in a black uniform sits up front, squashed in with the excess trunks and boxes. Did she really need that much? Standing outside one of the gold carriage doors is a postilion who occasionally moves to check that the horses pulling the carriage are calm whilst he begins to remove her luggage.

"Besides its not Effie's fault dear".

"You're right its the Capitol for killing off any sense of normality".

"Oh hush or she'll berate us all" she says with a delicate laugh, "In you go now".

Sighing I open the door to the parlour to see my aunt awaiting me. Her yellow wig acts as a warning to how obnoxious I'll likely find her.

"Hi Aunt Trinket", I say feigning surprise as though I didn't know she was coming. At least I was aware of her arrival. I absolutely hate surprises.

"Countess dear, Countess Trinket" she corrects "Oh just look at you". She grabs my shoulders, "Stand straight!" and smiles before embracing me. My shoulder throbs. When she allows me to breathe again I glance around the room at all the changes. The curtains have been folded up and stitched to appear re-hemmed and to hide the tattered edges. The rooms seems updated - falsely displaying our wealth - yet its nowhere near as extravagant as Effie's life is, and no number of alterations to the furniture will be capable of making us more money. If anything, it dwindles along with our energy.

Octavia and Venia begin to converse next to us and after hearing the front door slam I know uncle Flauvis has joined us. He stumbles in looking washed out from exhaustion and fixes his clothing in a bid to compose himself. In the corner Buttercup lays sleeping peacefully. I suppose someone took him out before I got home. Through the window I can see Rue, her brother and Darius assist the postilion. Compared to the two men, Rue looks tiny but she seems to float around as she carries a leather duffel bag in each hand to what I'm assuming is our door, before repeating the process. The men carry the trunks and suitcases.

By the time I'm once more focused on Aunt Trinket, Octavia - who no longer has the coat or bedsheets - puts a tea tray down on the table and Flauvis is stoking the fire to the command of Venia. The flames only allow for a dim light seen as there is not much wood to burn. "Come, come" Effie says turning me around so that she can guide us over to the loveseat. Once I'm pushed down onto it, she settles next to me and adjusts her deep purple coat. She claps her hands together in glee.

"So did enjoy the gift? My sister tells me you were the most excited for it".

"Yes! Yes. The pin. It was - is amazing". I can't help but agree with her even though I was the most worried. How could I tell her that I was looking forward to receiving something so... flashy, from her? Especially without mentioning the substantial financial issues. Though I'm curious, "What was it for?".

"Oh nothing much. I just saw it one week and thought you'd love it. I just had to get it for you". She claps her hands quickly, grinning, before intertwining her fingers. "Isn't it just wonderful?". I nod in agreement and raise my eyebrow at Octavia, as if to berate her. The gift didn't serve a purpose. It was just a way for my Aunt to showcase her wealth, and _she_ didn't believe me.

Octavia sticks her tongue out before smiling, showing her teeth.

"Oh its been long, hasn't it?" Effie asks drawing my attention back to her. Its impolite to talk to others when someone is awaiting a response from you, but my aunt is so energised I'd doubt she'd even notice if I did it. I'm still not going to chance it though.

I stutter out a reply, "Yes, um, nothing I can't handle though". I pause but continue when I catch Venia's prompting gaze.

"So... did you have a pleasant journey Aunt Trinket?".

"Countess dear" she corrects once more, "And it was a delight! I took a train here first and the food was amazing. Not to mention I met an old friend whose partner recently passed". I nod, zoning out again as she explains her friends housing dilemma. Every so often she glances to a corner of the room and flinches. Her smile tightens each time she takes note of the damaged furniture or when she shivers, likely feeling the cold draft in the room. I ponder what happened to her engagement. Aunt Trinket has always seemed self-assured in her future so it's odd to hear her change her mind so abruptly, if at all. She hasn't mentioned it to me so I believe she's already spoken to Venia about it. If she did get married, Effie could have got a higher title than the one she currently has. Though as of this date, I've yet to meet a man with such a distinguished title - or wage. The idea seems more ludicrous as time passes. No such man would want to enter our household. As much as I hate our position in society - which in all honesty is better than some others - speaking to a person with such a high authority out of context would likely end up with us being the reason they get demoted.

* * *

I sit on the edge of Aunt Effie's bed whilst an avox helps her change out of her coat and dress beneath and into a white cotton nightgown. The woman, as Effie explained, is a lady's maid that usually waits until ordered to assist. She does not speak - I don't believe she can - or wait around long enough to become a disturbance.

"I heard you're looking for suitors" she says gesturing for me to come over and brush her hair.

I crawl over to her side of the bed and do as she asks, scowling. "No Aunt - Countess Trinket. Your sister thinks that just because I am of age, I should begin the search for a partner". The brush snags the hair and she replies as I untangle it. She should be taking her wig off for bed soon, unless she sleeps in it, but is that what a lady should do? At least one in her position? I suppose standards are different as you become richer.

"She's right". I tug at her hair. "You just need to find the right suitor! I found a man when I was only seventeen and I've known him for over twenty years".

"Well that didn't work out for you, did it?" I snap, breaking some of the hair leaving her wig fluffy and knotted. She goes quiet and a surge of guilt fills me. Who treats a guest this way? Then again how dare _she_ act this way! Its no business of hers. I have nothing to be ashamed of. Except myself."I'm sorry Effie" I apologise.

"Dinner's ready" Aunt Octavia calls up.

"Never mind" Effie says ushering me on. I frown at her reply. Didn't she tell me as a child that a lady shouldn't be rushed. Or maybe she's just trying to push me down the stairs. As we sit at the table to eat, my aunt eyes each bowl with dismay. Small portions of meat rest in a stew.

"Goodness" she whispers, "Do you all live like untouchables?". My mouth falls open but a jab at my side makes me snap it shut. I think it tastes good! Food isn't easy to come by and I'm sharing it for an insult in return.

"We're not beneath you" I begin as she interrupts me.

"Oh no, no! Dearie this will never do!" she laughs. I glare at the snub. She picks up her spoon and inspects the chunks of meat.

"We're fine, thank you. We're managing" Octavia says ruefully. I relax slightly as she defends our household. "We bake and sell when we're able. However the annuity we get is not very large, so we have to make do dearest". The fact that both my Aunts refer to most others as some form of dearie, just shows how alike they are. It's odd that both have a similar linguistic ability whilst one has the capability to improve upon hers. The fact that she doesn't yet feels the need to insult our lifestyle is appalling. I blow on my spoonful.

"I had no idea" Effie continues oblivious before watching me eat. "Katniss! I hope you noticed we have a serious situation! I can't leave you with this... struggle. I'll fix this for you all". She inhales loudly before smiling, clearly proud of herself.

"Katniss needs some new dresses" Flauvis inputs. "She keeps trying to steal my breeches!".

"Do not!" I argue. I only borrow them. I can't help it if their more comfortable and practical than what I'm forced to wear.

"Of course! Splendid idea brother" she assures him. I drop my spoon into my bowl and flinch as it splashes. I lick the residue off my hand, smiling when she doesn't notice. Steal his breeches? More like a breach of manners. "Not just that but I encourage Katniss to have a pukka season! We spoke of this earlier and whilst she was upset, I imagine she'd love to try one out. She is of age as I've been told". We all look at her astonished. I grab fistfuls of my skirt to have something to squeeze. My breathing deepens. A genuine season! Surely not. I didn't want one, I don't!

Octavia speaks before I can lash out. "A season? For Katniss! Oh of course!" My foot begins tapping. "She deserves it after all she's done for us. We can't do one though. Her mother barely even acknowledged her in the past and she was our last hope for a connection", she says softly. I squeeze tighter. Breathe sharply. A hand on one of mine makes me freeze. I glance down to see it grasping my own, preventing it from shaking. The sight makes me blink quickly. Don't cry. Focus on composure. Focus. Focus. Focus. _Please._

I can't go. They need me here, but it doesn't help that every second she's here I'm faced with the idea of what if? I can't afford to think like that. So why tease me with a future of luxury? Oh but I'm desperate for it. Desperate for the love and hope of a time where I don't have to worry. Does such a place even exist anymore?

"I'll hire a chaperon for Katniss, maybe one of those quiet girls who follow orders. Believe me dear" she waits until I look at her. My hands loosen. "You'll enjoy it! And if not, then we'll come straight back. It about time you left this all behind for a while. So take a breath. You look a little petrified if I'm honest". She stands up. "I'll see you in the morning, then we'll discuss your moving arrangements". As she heads to the door Octavia nudges me. I can barely meet her eyes.

"What is this?" I ask dazed. Can I really accept this? She shakes her head smiling. How could she agree to such a thing.

"It's time you find a partner, early on dear." Effie says, "So you don't worry later. And remember, this is all for you. So when I see you next, well you better not be alone. I have high expectations for your future, so do us all a favour and bring home a good one hmm?".

She waits for my response.

I don't refuse.

* * *

 ** _Authors note ~_ ****Hey there! What are your thoughts on the update? Next chapter we meet Peeta. Please review! I love hearing your feedback. Follows and favourites/kudos are always appreciated, so thank you for everyone who does it for this or any of my other fics! :) Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

Peeta pov

"Be truthful my dear, I only wish you marry me" I state.

Lady Delly looks at me affectionately, her blue eyes bright and her smile small. She doesn't seem to notice how my seriousness. "I am Peeta, but you know my attention is elsewhere. You're only eighteen, far too young to feel such emotions".

"I'm not incapable of them" I state, jolting forward with the carriage, unused to the privilege of riding in one. "Besides in all honesty, you're the only female in existence who doesn't bore indefinitely".

She laughs delicately, covering her mouth with a gloved hand. "And that's cause for a betrothal? You're charm supersedes you." She lowers her hand. "You know I've been considering acting as a chaperon for hire" she continues, avoiding my question once again. "I'd say its respectable for any widow and a season would allow me to proclaim that statement".

"But the justice hall! Isn't that too simple for a Lady like yourself? The people that live there...goodness no. I doubt there's even a soul that could match you're impeccable birth".

She laughs again and I'd question whether she'll ever roll her eyes but I know she won't. Its not proper. I smile. "You're delusional. I need not even accept Miss Everdeen if I don't care for her". She pauses and becomes expressionless. To gain her composure I suppose. Its almost calming to watch. _Almost._ Just slightly unnerving. What must she think of to get to that stage? "Regardless, rumour has it that Miss Trinket's relatives have blue blood in their background. Somewhere."

My smile fades slightly along with my stability. I have to grip onto the cushion beneath me to keep me from flying out of my seat. I didn't know a Lady listens to rumours.

"It's probably some wanton's by-blow" I state unconvinced. "Are you sure Trinket is her real name? I could do a background check for you if you'd like?".

"Nonsense" she says brushing off my offer. "Effie Trinket is her real name though, it was in the papers decades ago. People do dispute odd things you know. Nevertheless her letter hints that she's rich - and single". I grimace. Does she not see that my affection lies elsewhere? "To tell you the truth I _long_ to meet her. The niece - not so much. Though I can't accept everyone know can I?". She continues laughing, unsettling me as I struggle to keep up with her rant. Some grunting from the front tells me that the coachman's mood hasn't improved over the time that we've journeyed here. I glance out the window noting the cause for our bumpy ride. The street has narrowed - less than half the size - and shacks border the road, both new and ransacked.

Ragged children climb atop cabins and what I can only assume are their dishevelled parents scream threats at them - the words sound faint once they reach my ears. After a few moments, the carriage slows down and Lady Delly looks about ready to flee. "Gosh" she comments under her breath, judgement tainting her tone. "Not another back-slum hussy". She clears her throat, which makes me pause before I can see what - or who - she's looking at.

Castor- our coachman - pulls open the door and guides us to the right house. He doesn't follow us further than the sidewalk outside the house, grunting out that he'd rather wait with the horses. Lady Delly waits beside me before glancing at me from the corner of her eye. I sprint to the front door and knock three times.

Within seconds the door is pulled open by a young woman who stares blankly at us. She stands silently before pulling a white apron off her arm and tying it around her waist and neck. A maid - that's what she is. I note the clean hallway behind her and mentally question Lady Delly. This looks like a perfectly respectable household. I wouldn't tell her though lest she take it as an insult of her judgement. The gentle tap and scrape of her heels on the gravel alert me to her presence. I turn to face her.

"I'll return to you in precisely thirty minutes" I state, knowing she won't want me to join her. These events are private. She once told me so and it made me curse my non-existent social status. I'm underserving of sitting in.

She smiles as the maid gestures for her to follow. "Try to survive without me for a bit". I nod and glance at one of the windows, noting a delicate figure watching us through the net curtains. It doesn't move when I squint in an attempt to make out any features, and when I do, I scurry away.

* * *

 ** _Authors note ~ So this is Peeta..._**

 ** _Spoiler alert - I'm everlark endgame so Peeta won't be kissing any girls - plural. Feelings are a different matter though. Spoiler over._**

 ** _I know this was quite a short chapter but trust me the next is really long, and Katniss' pov so that should make up for it. Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading and following this. Please review, I love hearing you're feedback! :)_**


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